


Wounded Coast Mornings

by Drakontion



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakontion/pseuds/Drakontion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles that happen on the Wounded Coast, hence the name. Set at different points during the game, in more or less chronological order. Anders/fem!Hawke. The drabble titles are from various Two Steps From Hell songs. No, I don't really know why... seemed like a good idea at the time :) Plus, ya know. TSFH is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounded Coast Mornings

Freedom Fighters

As the sun lifted above the horizon another violent wave of blood and muscle strove to overtake them, to push them back off the path to the city they'd come from. He stood steadfast within a surge of the Maker's own fury, energies swirling and coalescing, driving all back before him. He gestured and the elements answered his whim, his enemies screaming as they froze or burnt by turns. The sickly savoury scent of roasted flesh and stench of burnt hair rose in the air, strong enough to displace the coppery tang of blood that was thick in his nostrils. He'd never felt more alive, surrounded by foes who wanted him dead while he wrenched their life from them with his mind and will. He bared his teeth in defiance and wrought their destruction even as he mourned the necessary waste.

She danced around him in a whirling flash of steel and leather, deadly grace incarnate. Her hair streamed behind her as she nimbly avoided another spray of blood, the red fountain newly liberated from its host vein by her dagger. Ruby droplets pooled in the sand beneath her feet as she spun to face the incoming wave. Her blades sliced, singing through the air, parting flesh and sundering bone, shearing muscle and ripping free to sparkle in the clear morning light. She grinned, revelling in the sheer physical exertion, the triumph of her body over theirs, the exult of muscles pulling and flexing cleanly, her body responding flawlessly to her demands.

The assault was over almost as soon as it began, their opponents lying dead and dying at their feet. The first groans of the wounded rose and she knelt to dispatch them mercifully. He looked away, sickened as always at the deed, and ran a hand over his face. He inhaled deeply, flushing the odour of lingering death from his lungs, and turned to scan the path before them.

She finished her task and rose lithely to her feet. She pushed ahead, gripping his shoulder as she passed, and he followed in her wake, stepping within the confines of her shadow into the dawn.

 

Invincible

The morning was still and the paths shrouded in a cloying fog, the sun somewhere above working far too slowly to burn it away. She'd forged on ahead, leaving them behind, mired in her thoughts and paying less than no attention to her surroundings, so the ambush came by surprise. A hoarse shout, a rush of air, and the fetid smell of unwashed humanity was suddenly upon her. She looked up in shock at the cold slither of steel through her vitals and coughed against the intrusion of metal into her lungs.

It wasn't until her legs gave way that she felt the pain burning through her body, consuming all rational thought before it. Tears welled and blazed a path down her suddenly cold cheeks, while her hands were warmed by the gush of red that spilled from her stomach. She dropped to her knees, brow furrowed as she stared into the darkening face of the man behind the sword, wondering why it was getting dark when she was sure the sun had only recently come up.

When he rounded the corner he saw her slumped to the ground in the midst of a rapidly spreading dark pool, a figure he didn't recognise leaning over her. His heart stuttered and he screamed her name. His eyes flashed blue and pure instinct overtook him, magic flying in an overwhelming wave, knocking the figure away from her fallen form. He let their companions deal with the threat as he hurried to her, kneeling in her blood, and took her into his arms. She was so very cold; ashen and still. His hands suffused with radiance as he cradled her and he lowered his head in concentration, pouring all of his being into rescuing her.

Even before she opened her eyes she knew he was there, could feel his arms around her and the touch of his magic through her. She sighed, unwilling to return to reality. The darkness was comforting, when she knew he was there. She lifted heavy lids to meet his eyes, full of pain and anguish and remorse. As the sun burnt through the fog a tear sparkled on his cheek. She raised a trembling hand to cup his face and brushed the tear away.

He held her tight as he wept and she comforted him, his coat wicking her blood from the sands before it dried with the strengthening sun.

 

Fragments of Deception

Of late their patrols were conducted in an uncomfortable silence amidst the cool draught of air from the sea at dawn. When she pressed him he wouldn't talk, only muttered some vague platitude that drove her past frustration the more she heard it. His face was closed, shuttered, and he avoided her gaze. After a while she gave up, letting him fall back with the others.

For days they'd danced around his choice. His blackmail. He'd lied to her, used her: to what end she didn't know. He was unrepentant about it, but he knew that what hurt her most was the fact that he didn't trust her with whatever he was planning.

He watched with a heavy heart as she stalked the paths murderously, death to whatever had the misfortune of being in her way.

Shades lurked in the shadows by the cliff and she went joyfully to meet them, her blades singing as she spun them through the air. She twirled between them, moving too fast for them to grasp, blending with the shadows to strike from all directions at once before melting away to avoid retaliation. Her clear, mocking laugh filled the air, seemingly infuriating the shades.

Then he - they - caught up with her and the shades were upon them.

There was no time to pause and he found himself furiously casting spell after spell until he wavered, drained of mana. The shades sensed an easy target and advanced on him, expressionless faces alight with avarice, and he steeled himself.

And then she was there, deflecting the blow meant for him, twisting and intercepting and protecting him in her own inimitable way. Her step left her back to back with him, and they fought together again. He knew her moves, predicted her blows; she swayed with him as he gestured and swung his staff. They were one, a complement; the ease of familiarity making the total greater than the halves.

The last of the shades fell before them and they relaxed, in accord; and shared a glance as the bodies dissolved in the morning light. And he realised he trusted her with his life, his soul, his heart; regret shining golden like the sun in his eyes.

 

After the Fall

The storm was finally breaking as she woke, dawn's first rays streaming fitfully through scudding clouds that receded with every successive gust of wind. Her back was cold and she missed him, instantly.

Their hurried campsite was bare, a mere scraped patch of ground in the lee of a boulder, protected from the worst of the wind. They'd not been able to build a fire before exhaustion overtook them, and she missed the warmth and cheeriness one would have provided.

The air was cool and she shivered, rubbing her arms. Gulls wheeled on the breeze, their mewls mournful and plaintive, echoes of loneliness and despair and a wild, desperate liberty. The scent of salt and seaweed filled the air, bracing and invigorating, with a faint undercurrent of marine rot and decay. The air around them was pristine, with no trace of the smoke that hung in a heavy pall over the city they'd abandoned.

She was hungry and cold, itchy from an ill-equipped night spent on sand, but she felt freer than she could remember feeling in years.

She knew where he was: three years of living together had taught her body to recognise his, even when it wasn't wholly him. She relaxed imperceptibly, a fear that she hadn't even known she had dissipating. He was still there. He was still with her.

She stepped out of the shadows to the bluff where he stood watching the sunrise. The wind whipped loose strands of hair over his forehead and she brushed them back tenderly. He turned to look at her, and though he was roughened by the events of the preceding night, his face was dear and familiar and cherished and the one point of certainty she could find amidst the upheaval and relocation to their desolate surroundings. He smiled at her, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes, pooling light from the sunrise and drinking her in.

He reached down and twined his fingers with hers, and they stood together facing into the dawn, watching the remnants of the night's storm pass over the horizon.


End file.
